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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376634">Clouds Overhead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances'>sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Pacific (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:01:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In Melbourne, Hoosier finds her, and they both find some peace.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill "Hoosier" Smith/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clouds Overhead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, this is based on Jacob Pitts’ portrayal in The Pacific, and not on the real man. No disrespect is intended. I don’t own HBO or The Pacific. Lyrics inset are from Making April’s “These are the Nights” which I also don’t own.</p><p>This is technically an OC, but could also be read as a reader-insert.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bill sleeps for almost the entire day while his friends are out reveling in their freedom. </p><p>When he finally wakes, the moon is up, and he takes a minute to be grateful for the fact that for once, a full moon doesn’t mean a night of shelling and almost certain death. For once, he can enjoy it.</p><p>Or, he <em>could</em>, if there wasn’t someone right in his view. A woman, to be exact. For a half second, he wonders if he’s dead.</p><p>He rubs his eyes, but she’s still there. When he wakes up a little more, he realizes there’s a red armband around her bicep, and he watches curiously as she stares out across the pitch, mesmerized by the same sight he is. </p><p>“Nice night,” he comments quietly, but she still jumps near out of her skin at the sound of his voice.</p><p>“Christ,” she curses. “You scared me.” </p><p><em>American</em>, he realizes.</p><p>“Sorry, ma’am.” He says, but he can’t help but smirk at her. God, but she’s a vision. Maybe he’s just starved for anybody’s company besides his friends, but he thinks this woman is the most beautiful thing he’s ever set eyes on.</p><p>“I didn’t think anyone would still be here.” She comes a little closer, close enough that Bill can make out more of her features, most notably the bruise darkening the left side of her face. Her shoulders slump as she realizes he’s noticed. “Occupational hazard,” she says before he can ask if she’s alright. “Why aren’t you AWOL?” </p><p>He shrugs. “Tired.” </p><p>She laughs, the sound music to his ears. “I slept for almost twelve hours when we first got here.” </p><p>“How long have you been billeted here?” He asks, tucking his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight. Something about her knowing smile and kind eyes makes him feel off kilter. </p><p>“Three days. I’m being transferred to the hospital.” </p><p>“I’m Bill,” he blurts. She grins, and he wants a hole to open up and swallow him. </p><p>She tells him her name, and Bill savors the sound of it, sure that she’s some kind of witch sent to put a spell on him. He feels spellbound, locked in her orbit. He doesn’t want her to leave. </p><p>“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, trying to find whatever charm he thinks might still be buried under all the grime and trauma of the last few weeks. </p><p>“Are you asking me out, soldier?” </p><p>It’s his turn to grin at her playful tone. “Yes, ma’am.” </p><p>“Meet you by the gates in twenty minutes?” She asks, and he nods, watching her as she goes. She looks over her shoulder and he’s still staring, unashamed, gratified by the shy look she gets when he locks eyes with her. </p><p>A half hour later, he’s in his Class A’s, a little wrinkly, but certainly better than his grungy OD’s. He fidgets nervously as he waits for her to show up. </p><p>“Bill,” her soft voice announces her arrival. “Sorry, I couldn’t find my shoes–” </p><p>She’s tugging at her skirt as she walks, not paying attention to the way his jaw has gone completely slack as he takes her in. Her dress is also a little wrinkly, likely packed up in her trunk like his clothes are, but he doesn’t care about that. In fact, it makes her even more endearing. </p><p>Her hair falls in loose curls around her face, and she must have found some lipstick somewhere, because they’re an enticing shade of berry, and Bill licks his lips despite himself. Luckily she doesn’t catch him, or he’d feel like the biggest jerk this side of the Pacific. </p><p>“Do I have something on my face?” She asks when she catches him staring. </p><p>“No,” he answers, his voice rough. “You’re perfect.” It slips out, far more honest than he intended to be. </p><p>They both go quiet, and then she smiles, and the world rights itself again. <em>Christ</em>, he thinks, <em>I’m done for.</em></p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>In town, there are Marines and civilians everywhere, crowding the bars and streets. Bill keeps an eye out for his friends as he walks, both wanting to make sure they’re not causing too much trouble, and wanting to avoid them. He wants to keep this moment just for him. </p><p>He looks down at her as they walk, still unable to believe his luck. </p><p>“Can I ask you about that?” He asks her quietly, gesturing towards her cheekbone.</p><p>Her face goes carefully blank, and he curses himself. He should know better than to ask anyone who’s been in the shit about what happened to them. Not here.</p><p>“At the aid station, this man– combat fatigue.” She mutters. “He was seeing things in his sleep. I thought he was going to hurt himself, so I tried to wake him up.” </p><p>She doesn’t need to tell him the rest.</p><p>“Didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”</p><p>She looks up at him, her big eyes reflecting the moonlight. “It’s okay. It’s sort of… nice to talk about it with someone.” </p><p>“You don’t have many friends here? I find that hard to believe.” He says, steering her towards a park. He originally intended on finding a place to get a drink, but he finds talking with her and listening to the lilt of her voice intoxicating enough.</p><p>She rolls her eyes at him. “I have some friends. Other nurses. Haven’t met the ones I’ll be bunking with now that I’m here, but.” She stops herself. “It’s hard to get to know anyone.”</p><p>He knows what she means. He feels the same way whenever replacements show up - he barely wants to know their names. </p><p>They find a bench out of the way of prying eyes. The chatter of Marines all over the place pairs with the crickets providing the soundtrack for the evening.</p><p>“What about you?” She asks, “You have many friends?” </p><p>He smiles thinking of the guys who have had his back since they landed on that godforsaken island. “A few.” He smirks. “They’re terrible. Hope you never meet them.” </p><p>She grins. “Well, they can’t be as charming as you are, clearly…” </p><p>He laughs, surprising himself. He can’t remember the last time someone made him laugh outside of a foxhole or a trench. </p><p>“Where are you from?” He finds he wants to know everything about her.</p><p>“Chicago,” she says with a fond smile. “You?” </p><p>“Indiana. A small town no one’s ever heard of.”</p><p>Nearby, a car backfires, and Bill surges off the bench, looking over to see her doing the same, hands clenched into fists. </p><p>“Fuck,” Bill swears, hands shaking and cheeks red with embarrassment.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she says, taking a step closer, taking his hand automatically. He burns at her touch. “It’s okay,” she repeats.</p><p>“I’m sorry–”</p><p>“<em>Don’t</em> apologize.” She says fiercely, suddenly sounding angry.</p><p>He knows how she feels. </p><p>It shouldn’t be like this. They should have met somewhere else. The state fair maybe, or while she was getting a milkshake with her friends. He would have spotted her, been unable to leave until he knew her name. </p><p>He would have been unable to get her pretty face out of his head. </p><p>Not here - not like this… with the thread of never ending carnage looming above both their heads. </p><p>“Let’s go to the beach.” She says, out of the blue, tugging him closer with the hold she’s still got on his hand. </p><p>He thinks he would follow her anywhere if she keeps looking at him like that.</p><p>The waves sound different than they did on Guadalcanal. </p><p>They’re calmer here, not so harsh. Maybe it’s the circumstances. Maybe it’s the company. Either way, Bill finds himself leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him. </p><p>Next to him, her skirt flutters in the breeze, the scent of something floral drifting towards him as the wind ruffles her hair. </p><p>“You know,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet, “when I became a nurse, I was so naive. I thought I’d be… dabbing foreheads with a cold cloth. Serving sandwiches.” She shakes her head. “What an idiot.” </p><p>“You’re not an idiot.” He insists. “<em>I’m</em> the one who volunteered to go halfway around the world and fight in the jungle.” </p><p>She smiles softly, looking out at the water. “I had no idea what I was getting into. Neither did you. None of us, really.” She meets his eyes, hers burning with something that sets fire to his veins. “You’re going to make it,” she says fiercely. “You’re going to make it, and when this is all over, I’d very much like to see you again, Bill.” </p><p>He wonders if there’s ever been another woman like her. </p><p>They sit there awhile longer. When she starts to shiver, he takes a risk and slides closer, slinging his arm around her shoulder. She leans in, her head on his shoulder, and when that gets uncomfortable for them both, she unceremoniously climbs in front of him so she’s between his legs, leaning back against his chest. </p><p>Their combined body heat makes him drowsy, and his hands wander, only a little. She sighs, and he’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life.</p><p>They run out of time. </p><p>The MPs start searching the park, and then the beach, and they both scramble to their feet to make a run for it, laughing the entire way back to the stadium. </p><p>The Nurse Corps are billeted on the complete opposite side, and Bill finds himself looking for any reason not to let her go. </p><p>“I think I’m wounded,” he says, smiling lazily. “You should probably stick around.” </p><p>“I think you’re full of it.” </p><p>“Full of something,” he murmurs. “Can I write to you?” </p><p>She looks surprised. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” </p><p>He ends that night with his cheek burning from where she’d kissed it, and her address in his pocket, “for afterwards,” she insists.</p><p>He hopes there <em>is</em> an afterwards.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>It’s nearly fall in Chicago, but Bill’s hands are sweating. He hears chatter inside the large house, the windows open to let in the autumn breeze, and one voice in particular makes him stop in his tracks and shut his eyes briefly, trying to gather himself. </p><p>He knocks, takes a few steps back.</p><p>A screen door opens and shuts. </p><p>“Oh my god.” </p><p>He finally looks up. </p><p>“Oh my–” Her eyes are filled with tears, and she stops mid sentence to jump the last two porch steps and throw herself in his arms. </p><p>He’s caught off guard, but feels his knees go weak not from the remnants of his injury, but from the sheer relief of seeing her again, of <em>feeling</em> her in his arms, when he was sure he’d never have this chance. </p><p>He doesn’t hesitate - he tilts his head up and catches her lips, kissing her the way he wanted to the first night they met. She responds immediately, sighing against his mouth as he sets her back down on the ground so he can cup her face in his hands, breaking away only when he’s nearly gasping for breath. </p><p>“<em>Bill</em>.” </p><p>“Hi.” </p><p>“I thought you–” She stops herself, hand going over her mouth to stifle her sob. “You never answered my last letter.” </p><p>After Melbourne, they wrote to each other nearly every day. They know more about each other than Bill knows about some of his closest friends. That all stopped when he was hit. </p><p>“The Marines had the audacity to send me to a hospital that wasn’t yours,” he says, smiling at her. His smile fades as he takes in every detail of her face. “Are you–” He looks over her shoulder towards the house. “Is there someone–” </p><p>She looks stricken. “No. <em>No</em>, Bill, I told you.” </p><p>He remembers. In her last letter, which he could probably recite by heart if he needed to. <em>I’ll wait for you</em>, she had said. <em>There’s no one else.</em></p><p>He wasn’t dumb enough to think that would last forever when she got home, though. He’s still not sure… he doesn’t believe he could be that lucky.</p><p>The hesitation must be written on his face, because she gets this look of pure determination before she’s tugging on his hand, dragging him around the corner of the house, away from prying eyes and ears. </p><p>She doesn’t even let him say another word. She pushes at his shoulders until his back is flat against the brick, and then she’s in his arms again, mouth pressed against his. </p><p>Her hands grip his lapels to keep herself steady, and his find purchase on her hips, his breath leaving him in a stuttered groan at the passion in her kiss. </p><p>He dreamed of her like this. He dreamed of a floral scent and a soft fabric bunching up under his hands, of finally, <em>finally</em> having enough time to kiss her like he meant it.</p><p>“I told you I would wait for you.” She gasps. “I don’t break my promises.” </p><p>“Thank god for that,” he mutters, before diving back in for more.</p><p>For once, time is on his side. There’s nothing to rush now, no need to act like they might never see each other again. </p><p>They’ve got all the time in the world.</p><p>’<em>Cause these are the nights that you know when you’re there<br/>You couldn’t have planned it much better I swear and you hope<br/>That your senses aren’t failing you now<br/>And you think to yourself now I could be wrong<br/>But I might have just stolen this scene from a song and you know<br/>That your senses aren’t failing you now</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow my HBO War blog <a href="https://softspeirs.tumblr.com">@softspeirs</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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